


Clarity

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 14:46:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10389162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: Eliot’s heart is like a broken Welters board and Quentin is trying to gather up the shattered pieces, one by one, before Eliot can burn them to ashes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this directly on Hale Appleman, whose portrayal of Eliot Waugh is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen since Michael Rosenbaum played Lex Luthor on Smallville and because no one took care of Eliot after Mike. I don’t own The Magicians and make no profit from this: it’s just for fun. Feedback is loved: enjoy! Thanks to DreamWvr73 for the beta!

Clarity  
Author: Neptune_Rising70 (aka Lexalicious70)  
Fandom: The Magicians  
Pairing: Eliot/Quentin (Queliot)  
Category: Hurt/Comfort  
Rating: R (graphic sex)  
Spoilers: for season one  
Warnings: Triggers for alcohol abuse  
Summary: Eliot’s heart is like a broken Welters board and Quentin is trying to gather up the shattered pieces, one by one, before Eliot can burn them to ashes.  
A/N: I blame this directly on Hale Appleman, whose portrayal of Eliot Waugh is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen since Michael Rosenbaum played Lex Luthor on Smallville and because no one took care of Eliot after Mike. I don’t own The Magicians and make no profit from this: it’s just for fun. Feedback is loved: enjoy! Thanks to DreamWvr73 for the beta. 

Clarity  
By Neptune_Rising70 (aka Lexalicious70) 

“Just what the fuck was that about?” 

Eliot looked up from the drink he was making at the Physical Kids cottage bar. His head was already aching like a rotting tooth and what he’d seen at the Plover’s house was enough to verify that both life and the afterlife were equally horrible and all he could do to stay afloat between the two was to build a life raft made of liquor. 

“Could you be more specific?” He asked Quentin, who stood in the doorway, stiff with what Eliot assumed was righteous indignation. He almost couldn’t pull it off—that kind of posturing was more Alice’s specialty—but Quentin was doing a decent imitation of her and Eliot had to admire the effort. 

Quentin crossed the room as Eliot stirred his drink. 

“I think you know! The way you talked to Alice back there? Jesus, El! Why did you say that to her?” 

“Like I said. I was being helpful. I was being honest.” Eliot took his drink to the couch and sat down. 

“There’s being honest and then there’s being an asshole at the worst possible time!” Quentin remained standing, trying to tower over him, but the effect failed miserably and even the younger man knew it. He spun a nearby chair around and sat down, facing Eliot. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Quentin asked at last, and a flat stream of giggles erupted from Eliot’s throat. He dumped booze on them and then let his head tip back until it was resting on the back of the couch. 

“Fuck off, Quentin. If you really have to ask that question, then you can just fuck. Off.” 

“Fine!” Quentin threw his hands in the air and got to his feet. Eliot watched him, raising the glass to his lips, and then scotch was splashing against his clothes and the side of his face. Glass shattered against the wall to his left a moment later in an explosive, single note, and Eliot realized with growing incredulousness and anger that mousy little Quentin Coldwater, King of the Awkward Nerds, had just knocked his drink from his hand. He wiped dripping amber liquid from the side of his jaw and stared up at the younger magician. 

“The fuck!” 

“ _You_ the fuck!” Quentin shot back. “Knock this shit off, Eliot, quit drinking yourself into a stupor and then treating everyone around you like complete crap! It’s not our fault Mike died!” 

Quentin’s shouted words bounced off the cottage walls and ricocheted into Eliot’s brain like hard pellets made of venom. They cut a vicious path through the booze and he blinked up at Quentin, who blushed a little but folded his arms over his chest and stood his ground. 

“Okay.” Eliot replied, a terrible smile twisting his lips into a grimace as he got to his feet. Quentin became newly aware of their height difference and wondered in a fleeting way if Eliot was angry enough to use magic on him. He didn’t think so, but there was a light in Eliot’s eyes that he’d never seen before. “If you don’t think that I’m aware of that, then you’re an idiot.” Eliot spat the words at him and then took a deep, quivering breath. “It’s my fault.” 

Quentin felt some of the anger bleed out of him. 

“Eliot, that’s—that’s not right, not at all! Mike was under the thrall of the beast! He killed Jane Chatwin, he tried to kill Dean Fogg! He might have killed you if you hadn’t protected yourself!” 

“Protected myself.” Eliot said, his tone flat. “Is that what you think happened? That it was a moment of pure selfishness?” 

“I don’t know.” Quentin shook his head. “I wasn’t there. And we never really talked about it.” 

“Seems to be a common theme among our little group.” Eliot replied, glancing away, and Quentin started to reach out before the cold place between them made his arm drop back to his side. 

“There’s kind of been a lot going on since then! Mostly us trying to avoid getting our heads ripped off by The Beast!” 

“Well. You don’t need to worry about me, Q.” Eliot forced a smile that felt waterier than a drink with half the ice melted away. “The needs of the many, right?”  
_Star Trek? When the hell did he see Wrath of Kahn?_ Quentin asked himself. Eliot rolled his eyes and turned back to the bar, but Quentin grabbed his right arm, just above the elbow. He felt tension in the sinewy muscles and sensed the third-year’s abilities, which far outpaced his own. Eliot staggered back a step and then looked over his shoulder, his dark amber eyes narrowing. 

“Get your fucking hand off me, Quentin.” 

“No.” Quentin tightened his fingers around the silk material of Eliot’s shirt. “I’m not letting you drink yourself to death over something that wasn’t your fault!” 

“The state of my liver and what I did in that passageway isn’t your concern! Let me go!” Eliot jerked away, took two unsteady steps, and then stumbled halfway to the bar. Quentin ducked under the tall magician’s arm and slipped his left arm around Eliot’s waist and turned him in a not-so-graceful swing, toward the bedroom instead of the bar. 

“Come on. You need to lie down.” 

Eliot chuckled in a venomous tone. 

“My my, look who’s the boss all of a sudden! I didn’t know one could conjure a backbone.” 

“Just come on.” Quentin helped him into the bedroom. They paused in the doorway, and then one of Eliot’s big, fine-boned hands was in Quentin’s hair, petting and playing with it. Quentin suppressed a shiver of pleasure as two fingers brushed against the nape of his neck. He helped Eliot to the bed, but then the taller boy turned, wrapping his other arm around Quentin and giving a drunken whoop as he let himself fall like a weather-beaten tree. They landed on the bed together and Quentin sat up to lift Eliot’s long legs into the bed. Eliot stared up at the ceiling as Quentin pulled off his shoes and then kicked off his own before he settled down next to this friend. Silence stretched out until Quentin thought Eliot had passed out, but then he spoke softly. 

“You remember how I told you that magic doesn’t come from joy or happiness? That it comes from pain?” 

Quentin turned over onto his side to face Eliot. 

“I do.” 

“That’s what happened. It’s why I was able to do what no one else could. When he came out of that cell and took down Dean Fogg, I finally saw Mike for what he was. Up until that moment, I thought there must be some mistake or maybe he was just sick. But when he looked at me, I saw what he was, Q. What he had always been. And . . . I felt this sick kind of shame and rage build up inside me until it rushed out of my chest and down my arms and through my hands and—and I killed him. I twisted his neck around without even touching him. I reversed what I felt for him, and I used it as a weapon.” Eliot’s lips trembled. “I killed him with the part of me that I hate most about myself!” The last word dissolved under a forceful barrage of tears. Quentin shifted closer and got his arms around Eliot, feeling his friend's heart beating much too quickly against his chest. 

“El. Hey . . . shhhhh . . .” Quentin pulled one hand back and pushed his fingers gently through Eliot’s ebony hair, untangling the stubborn curls he sometimes tried to tame with gel. Quentin loosened them so his fingers wouldn’t snag and pushed them back gently, over and over. “It’s okay. Hey! Listen to me.” He lifted Eliot’s chin with his other hand. “What you did saved us all. If you hadn’t stopped him, he would have come after me next, and then Margo and Penny. He would have slaughtered anyone who got in his way. Innocent students all over Brakebills and beyond!” The hand on his chin moved up to wipe away Eliot’s tears. Eliot was still weeping but his eyes were fixed on Quentin’s—good, at least his friend was listening. “You saw him for what he was in that moment and you sacrificed your own feelings to save Professor Fogg and everyone else at this campus!” 

“Do you think I wanted to see that?” Eliot asked, his voice ragged with tears. “To see how he’d duped me—how he’d been able to get past my defenses? I brought him into the fold, Quentin!” 

“You weren’t the only one he fooled. Even Penny didn’t see what he was.” Quentin wiped away two fresh tears. They were hot and transparent as they slid down his index finger. “The Beast worked on us in all different ways. He sent someone—something—that you wanted. Someone like yourself, someone He knew you’d respond to! That’s not your fault! It wasn’t Mike’s either and I’m sorry for what The Beast did to him but I’m not sorry you defended yourself!” 

“You’re not? Why?” Eliot asked, hitching in a breath, and Quentin’s expression shifted to one of surprise. His hands slid down to cup Eliot’s face. 

“You really don’t always see what’s in front of you, do you, El?” He smiled. “Because I care about you! I care and—and I want you here and I want you in my life and—” Quentin ran out of words then, so he did the only thing he could think of to take on a share of the pain in Eliot’s eyes. 

He kissed him. 

Even as he pressed his lips into Eliot’s, Quentin gave a thought to Alice and their relationship, but this is what you might call a dire emergency—unless you counted Margo, Eliot had received precious little affection in his life, and Quentin would be damned if he’d be the one to withhold it now. He kept his hands on either side of Eliot’s face but suddenly Eliot was returning the kiss, his hands coming up to slide through Quentin’s hair, where his fingers tugged and wound and explored. Quentin broke the kiss as he felt heat flood his cheeks but Eliot didn’t allow him to retreat into embarrassment. He slipped a big hand around the back of Quentin’s neck and drew him in for another kiss. Quentin tasted scotch and the silk-cut cigarettes Eliot preferred but it made this heady mixture that only made his inhibitions slip away faster. Eliot pulled away from his lips and went for his neck instead, and bursts of pleasure shot from the marked skin down to his cock, which began to twitch in what Quentin couldn’t deny was extreme interest. He put his hands in Eliot’s hair and the next thing he knew, they were sliding down to fumble open the buttons of the taller man’s shirt. Eliot watched and then his dark amber eyes lifted to Quentin’s face. 

“Quentin . . .?” 

“Don’t. Don’t ask me questions because I don’t think I have the answers, El. Just—just shut up.” He pulled off Eliot’s shirt and then his own. The pants were a little more difficult because Eliot’s long legs were pliant with booze and emotion but Quentin pulled those off too, along with a pair of fashionable black boxers. He shed his own, along with his boxers, and slid his left leg over Eliot’s flat stomach until he was straddling his lap. That cold place that had been between them earlier was gone now and Eliot stared up at him as his elegant hands splayed against Quentin’s chest. Quentin reached down and wrapped his hands around Eliot’s wrists, giving himself balance as he shifted just right and then began to rock back and forth. Eliot’s expression morphed from confusion to pleasure and his mouth dropped open slightly. 

“Quentin! Oh—” He began to rock his lean hips in reply. Quentin tightened his hands around Eliot’s wrists and then leaned forward slightly, giving Eliot something he rarely gave anyone—eye contact. A spark jumped between them as they locked eyes. The older man didn’t speak; he found that he didn’t have to. Something was growing between them now, a heat, a glow, and Quentin let his hands slide down Eliot’s lean, long arms until their lips could meet. Eliot arched into the kiss, his toes curling as Quentin’s cock rubbed and slid against his. 

The friction on its own was delicious enough but the way Quentin was looking at him, even as they kissed, was causing golden threads to weave around the broken places in his heart, the ones that had shattered along with the sound of Mike’s neck snapping, and bind them back together. Quentin’s kisses were far from experienced but they were full of affection and honesty, something Eliot drank in. Quentin’s fingers curled around his biceps and the power between them made the fine hairs on Eliot’s arms stand at attention. He could feel his body tightening, full of tension that was ready to be released and then Quentin’s hands splayed against his chest, his palms kneading into his nipples as they continued to kiss and Eliot brought a hand up to the back of Quentin’s neck to steady him and Christ it was perfect and fuck yes there—

Eliot moaned against Quentin’s wide, full mouth and his lean body shuddered as the eager hand of orgasm pushed him over the edge. He came against Quentin’s abs in three or four wet jets and broke the kiss to give a short, sharp cry. Quentin’s dark eyes were wide and bright, his mouth open slightly as he thrust against Eliot a few more times and a hot, sticky wetness shot across Eliot’s lower belly. The last few thrusts were erratic as Quentin gave himself up to the orgasm and then he was slowly pulling back. Eliot relaxed his hand and it slid away from the back of Quentin’s neck. Quentin gulped in air and stared down at the other magician. Now that the moment was over, Eliot was sure the kid would bolt, unable to deal with the decision he’d made, but he only sat up a little. Eliot’s eyes closed for a few moments as he swam in the warm pulses and flutters of aftershock, and then a wet washcloth was stroking over his stomach, cleaning him. He opened his eyes to see Quentin leaning over him, still nude, and then he was getting into bed and pulling the covers up over them both. He turned toward Eliot and a smile quirked the corners of his mouth upward. 

“I’m staying.” He said, and Eliot adjusted his pillow. 

“People usually don’t.” 

“I’m not people.” Quentin settled against him. “I’m Quentin.” 

“Okay.” Eliot’s eyes searched his face. “What you said before, about wanting me in your life . . .” 

“Yeah?” 

“I think it can be arranged.” 

Quentin moved forward and slid his arms around Eliot’s shoulders. 

“Good. Because I lied, El. I don’t want you in my life. I need you in it.” 

“For now. Things change, Q.” Eliot replied softly, and Quentin let his fingers rest in Eliot’s dark hair. 

“They do. They just did. But maybe this way, we can see those changes coming together.” 

“That is stupidly romantic, Quentin Coldwater.” Eliot murmured, and Quentin smiled against Eliot’s pale neck. 

“I guess it is.” He said softly. He was asleep a few moments later and Eliot carefully slid his arms around the younger magician, listening to him breathe. His own heart and mind were quiet for the first time in weeks, and he shifted his weight slightly until Quentin lay comfortably in his arms. He closed his eyes as he let one hand settle into his friend’s silky hair. Maybe it was stupidly romantic after all, but the light Quentin had created in Eliot’s heart was real, and it was guiding him slowly out of the darkness. 

FIN


End file.
